in an age where there’s too much of everything and too little of everything, where spear fights

are not ended, although thoughts, not objects, are the most frightening,

we are more polluted than waters, breath, meat are polluted.

there is irony, a reciprocity of cosmic constitution, my eye does

turn like a sphere on the top of a needle, I do move along diagonals.

I’m waiting for rain, waiting for your voice the indicator, dreaming of a cotton’s blossom.

in an age where Jesus is an advertising and commercial product, the pose of the cross,

I’m considering the possibilities for playing. I’m forgetting there are crowds who

don’t know that the mirage of blood is stronger than blood itself. in an age of points,

incessant addition, multiplication, they peel meanings off words as

easily as they pull down houses, homes, and the fragile awareness of oneself.

in an age of developing allergies, ways of helping, rights and simultaneous

denials. in an age of one-second connections that cut physical distances,

that reduce the value of getting closer, girls and boys are thinning to blades of grass,

the poor blow up balloons, condoms, and lips; in an age of fleeing

to other planets, when instant eternal life is on every shelf,

I’m looking into you; I’m waiting for a change in the colour of your eyes

as well as in the angle; for you to meet me in the bulletproof space.

in an age where intimacy has the status of an endeared species, I’m inviting you over,

to a white night, to a wet day, to dreams or a myth that doesn’t oxidise, M***,

to a bond that you don’t cut when cutting the umbilical cord. to our axis.

© translated by Andrej Zavrl, edited by Alan McConnell-Duff

V dobi, kjer je vsega preveč in vsega premalo, kjer boji s kopji

Niso končani, čeprav so najbolj zaskrbljujoče misli ne predmeti,

Smo mi bolj onesnaženi, kot so onesnaženi vode, dih, meso.

Je ironija, recipročnost kozmičnega ustroja, se moje oko

Obrača kot konica igle, se premikam po diagonalah.

Čakam dež, čakam tvoj glas indikator, sanjam o cvetu bombaža.

V dobi, kjer je Jezus prodajni in reklamni artikel, poza križa,

Razmišljam o možnostih igre. Pozabljam, da so množice, ki

Ne vedo, da je privid krvi močnejši od krvi same. V dobi točk,

Nenehnega seštevanja, množenja besedam lupijo pomene s

Tako lahkoto, kot podirajo hiše, domove in krhko zavest sebe.

V dobi naraščajočih alergij, oblik pomoči, pravic in hkratnega

Kršenja. V dobi sekundnih povezav, ki fizične razdalje sekajo,

Ki zbliževanju zbijajo ceno, se deklice in dečki tanjšajo v bilke,

Si reveži napihujejo balone, kondome in ustnice; v dobi bežanja

Na druge planete, ko je instant večno življenje na vsaki polici,

Gledam v tebe; čakam, da se poleg barve tvojih oči

Spremeni kot; da se z mano srečaš v neprebojnem prostoru.

V dobi, kjer ima intima status ogrožene vrste, te vabim k sebi,

V belo noč, v moker dan, v sanje ali mit, ki ne oksidira, M***,

V vez, ki je s prerezano popkovino ne prerežeš. V najino os.

© Kristina Hočevar, Fizični rob (Cankarjeva založba, 2007)